


Way Off Line

by unconditional_w



Category: Glee, Juno (2007)
Genre: Broadway!Rachel, F/F, First Loves, Sarcastic!Quinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-06 05:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10326374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unconditional_w/pseuds/unconditional_w
Summary: Quinn Fabray and Juno MacGruff meet in university.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So where was the passion  
> when you need it the most?
> 
> \- Bad Day by Daniel Powter

It's not so much that it smells horrible. Just the fact that it does at all.

The stink of the residence's cafeteria's managed to travel through the halls and permeate through to the beds upstairs. Quinn shuffles through some pale-faced jocks tossing a football around on fifth floor and makes it up to the sixth, lugging her carry-on through the stairs and half-heartedly thanking a brunette who keeps the door open for her with her foot.

Room 615 is at the end of the hallway of course, she laments, deciding to push the arm down the luggage and just bring the thing down.

It's a quiet one, the corridor is filled with hushed discussions in each small room, and sparkly names are glued to each.

Tina + Jamie.

Laurie + Kayla.

Taylor + Nona.

She reaches her room, squinting at the horrible silver star with her name _Quinn_ written in black sharpie. Beside it, an equally loud silver blotch with _Juno_.

It’s all too New Directions, and the star’s reminding her of someone who promised to make them – albeit gold stars - her mark.

She rips her name off the door.

When she gets into the dorm, she lets out a sigh of relief. Two beds, one on each side of the room, both bunk beds, with the bottom half missing to fit a few large cupboards, a desk, and a wheelie chair. At the center of the room, the makeshift kitchen and small dining table. This’ll do just fine, she thinks to herself with a smile, dumping her luggage and coat off on the right hand side. It comes out of habit.

 

-

 

The door opens again a few hours later, well past check-in time, and a disheleved short brunette stumbles in with a wooden pipe in her mouth, her hoodie hanging off her shoulder, and three large worn-out duffel bags in hand.

“Oh,” she says upon locking eyes with Quinn, and, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she shifts her way inside. “Well I’d greet you by your name but it doesn’t seem like there’s a spiffy little star for you out there,” she says with a dry smile. She shucks her bags down on the left side of the room, and takes a scrunched up silver star out of her pocket, clearly having ripped it off as well. She unfolds it, just barely, and flashes it to the blonde with one hand.

“I’m Juno.”

 

~#~#~

 

It turns out Juno MacGruff is her full name, and she graciously allows Quinn to tease her about it.

“So how difficult is it to solve mysteries in such a hideously bright hoodie, MacGruff?”

“What’s it like being constantly compared to the Grammys?”

“I’m actually uncomfortable being even loosely related to Sarah Palin.”

It tapers off after a few days and Quinn’s surprised by the girl’s complete and utter comfort around it, an air of nonchalance and maturity with still a willingness to poke fun at herself. The girl’s got this low, low voice that’s so unlike Rachel’s, so rigid and seemingly uncaring, not to be confused with exposed. And that sarcasm. That gosh darn sarcasm.

They barely speak to one another the first couple of weeks, slowly growing into university and wandering about campus. Tufts is busy, and soon enough, they’re both out doing extra-curricular activities or, if home (home. That’s what she has to call their room now) they’re studying or eating. Every now and then they nod to one another, or say goodnight. Juno spends the majority of her time either out with friends or inside playing guitar.

“What’s that smell?” Juno awakes one Saturday morning with a yawn, lifting her covers off her body and carefully getting out of bed, not to hurt her head. Too many times they’d both woken up by banging a forehead against the ceiling, only to yell out in pain and wake the other.

“I’m making eggs,” Quinn replies, flipping one sunny side up. “Would you like some?” she asks. She doesn’t really want to make her any, but considering the girl’s just getting up to the smell of fresh eggs and really, there one’s more that she was just going to throw back into the fridge anyway, she figures it’s the least she can do.

“Yeah sure, I’d love some,” Juno replies with another yawn, rubbing her forehead, then her nose, and finally just running her hands through her hair completely before grabbing a stray hair elastic and tying it into a loose tail.

“How do you like them?”

“You know back at home, my mom used to boil them and them slice them in half so they’d make these sweet little like...boat things.” Juno makes them with her hands.

Quinn arches an eyebrow at the hand representation. “Devilled eggs?”

“Devilled eggs,” Juno confirms with a smile.

She clears her throat. “Devilled eggs need to be boiled. I only have a pan here. I can do sunny side or scrambled.” It comes out, as things always do, ruder than she’d intended it to.

Juno raises her hands in mock innocence. “Sunny, then, it’s all good.” She walks over to the window, moves her guitar out of the way, and opens the blinds, silently lamenting the rain outside. “It’ll do us some good.”

 

~#~#~

 

Sometimes she comes back, wanting to study, only to find Juno procrastinating as always in her wheelie chair, leaning back with that familiar devil-may-care lean, playing some sappy song on her acoustic. Other times Quinn’s home alone studying, and finds herself longing to hear the pluck of taught strings, that oddly comforting squeak of fingers sliding across the strings from one tab to another. It’s a reassuring sort of glow, she’s found. To be surrounded by music. Music that isn’t a capella, music that doesn’t remind her of brunette divas singing gorgeous high notes. Music that isn’t about teamwork, or group dynamics. Music that was just music. And lovely all on its own. She’d forgotten how beautiful a single voice and acoustic instrument could be.

“So like, do you have a guy back home or something?” Juno asks one night when she’s tuning up and Quinn’s just cleaning her side of the room.

“N-no,” Quinn replies. They’re talking. They never talk. Especially not about their love lives. Well, Quinn thinks to herself, ‘love’ lives. She climbs up into bed.

“I just thought I should ask,” Juno shrugs, “I mean not like it’s something I need to know, you know, it’s just like...we’re roommates. I know we don’t sit around and paint each other’s toenails but I just figured...”

Quinn looks at her.

She shrugs again. “We should get to know each other or something.”

Quinn hesitates. Shrugs her own shrug. “Nothing to know.” She turns off her light, fully aware of how rude it is when it encases the other side in shadow, but throws the covers onto her face, faces the wall.

 

-

 

Juno plays in the dark. Quinn secretly likes it.

 

~#~#~

 

Sometimes Juno interrupts her during prayer. It’s bound to happen, because Quinn says one after she’s made her bed, and one right before bed, and she’ll mumble one before lunch, or sometime during the day. And sometimes she’ll hear Streisand or Garland and she’ll take some time to think on her past, and murmur a prayer for those she loves, and hopes with everything she is that they can hear her. It happens once or twice a week, and after the first times, Juno’s grown used to it and learns how to enter slowly and stand respectfully until Quinn’s done.

And then there are the prayers that no one hears. The ones she says in her mind, from her heart, because God can hear those the strongest, feel those hardest. There are the prayers for the tiniest person in the world she knows, and the only bundle of joy she’d ever beheld, and loved, and lost. But no one needs to know about that. Not in university, when some have barely even gone to second base, and others are more worried about graduate school or finals than contractions. Not when she’s supposed to be building a new life. Not when she’s actually been lucky enough to get out of that town.

“This came for you today.”

Quinn looks up from her papers. “What?”

A brown parcel falls into her lap.

“This came for you today. I signed for it, cos the dude said he’d come back and honestly, I don’t think he would’ve, he definitely looked like he was on something or just sparked or something, whatever. I signed for it.”

“Thank you,” Quinn replies absently. It’d been absent since she saw the return address.

“Yeah no problem, it made me feel like a spy anyway. Who knows, if I get good enough at forging things maybe I could just drop out of school and like, just do that for a living, you know? Plagiarize.”

Quinn opens the envelope slowly, sliding a letter into her hand first, then a face-down picture. She puts that aside, not ready to see it yet. Instead she opens the letter.

Juno’s curiosity gets the better of her. She leans over. “Who’s Shelby Corcoran?”

“My aunt,” Quinn lies quickly out of reflex.

 

 

  
Dear Quinn,

  
I hope university’s treating you well. I know I could have done this through an email but there’s always something more personal about a letter, don’t you think? Anyway, Baby & Me suggests I do something arts and crafts related in order to get in touch with a more nurturing and kinder side. It makes sense. Besides it’s sort of soothing. That’s always a great thing to do, right? Soothing activities. I’ve also gotten into scrap booking. I’ll send you something soon.

Beth is doing great, and got through the flu like the trooper she is. She misses you so much, and loves the new recordings you sent, she sleeps with them sometimes. I think she misses your voice. Last weekend, Rachel

 

 

She decides to finish the letter later. She folds it and tucks it back into its neat little envelope.

Then she slides the photograph – the latest one of Beth - across her stomach and lifts it to full view.

The sob comes out uncontrollably.

“...Quinn?”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says weakly, hiding the photo behind her, and shielding her face from Juno. She wipes at her tears furiously until they’re gone.

“You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Juno climbs down from her bed and approaches her warily. “Is everything okay, do you need me to-”

“I’m fine.”

She’s closer than Quinn expected her to be. Juno’s got a hand on her back and rubbing it slowly. “Hey, it...it’s okay.”

There’s something so familiar, so uncertain and young yet determined and compassionate that’s just so familiar for some reason, and Quinn can only push the picture further away, hoping with everything she has that Juno won’t see it, before turning around and being enveloped in a hesitant hug. It’s the most contact they’ve had, ever, and it works, feels warm, warmer than she’d ever thought it could be. “I’m so sorry,” she continues to sob.

“It’s alright,” Juno shushes her, tentatively caressing her hair.

Later they separate and Quinn thanks her.

“It’s no problem,” Juno says with another wry smile, drying the last tear off her face with her finger. “Life gets you down sometimes, you know?”

Quinn laughs a soft one. “Yeah.” She wipes at her eyes again and sighs out.

“I’ll make dinner.”

“Thank you.”

 

~#~#~

 

School is harder than it should be. Friends come and go, and Boston is so much bigger than Lima, and there’s really nothing ‘around the corner’. She makes a friend here and there between study groups, but they lose touch and interest in one another after a while. She starts to hole herself up in her books, deciding to keep at International Relations even though she’s not doing so well on that social aspect. Maybe things will just fall into place.

 

_“Things will fall into place, Quinn,” she said with the softest of smiles, tracing her jawline and planting a kiss on her lips. “We’ll find our way,” she promised._

 

She thinks about joining the cheerleading squad. She briefly considers joining the Christian Alliance but the welcoming day takes place in the church basement and the door has, of all things they could have posted, a Choose Life poster. And she sees the baby, and the tiny toes, and she can barely stand it. She made an excuse of a forgotten textbook and ran out.

She goes to church on her own. Sunday afternoons. She misses the sermons.

 

~#~#~

 

She wants it to be over, but it isn’t. With Juno, nothing’s ever really dropped, she’s learnt. The girl was just too observational and oddly understanding. Sometimes she’ll make a snarky comment on an off day and Juno will bring it up later. So it’s not a surprise when she brings it up the parcel a few weeks later. Albeit hesitantly.

Juno’s lying on her back, rereading Paradise Lost and eventually just putting it on her chest, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Quinn does the same with King Lear, though she’s actually managing to read some. “Hey Quinn?” she asks slowly.

“Hmn.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

Quinn bookmarks the page and turns. “Yeah?”

“What’s that picture you keep looking at?”

Quinn hesitates, feeling something hitch in her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She flips the page of Act Four very slowly, keeping herself calm.

Juno sits up in friendly concern. “I’m not gonna freak or anything if you tell me but it’s like...shit, I don’t even know. I don’t even know what you’re looking at every night, but...but you’re crying? And I try to pretend like I don’t hear but honestly dude, it’s freaking me out. Do you need help or something? I’m not like, professionally trained in anything, and I don’t know much about roommates or how close or how apart we’re supposed to be, but like, dude, I’m here for anything you want, you know? I’m here to listen or rant to or all that emotional shit.”

Quinn drops her book down in frustration and turns to her. “Will you please be quiet. Every word you speak is just noise, between ‘likes’ and ‘you know’s’. No, I don’t know, and I don’t know what you’re talking about, so just. Be. Quiet.”

“Okay question.”

“What.”

“Are you a serial killer.”

The taped picture is ripped off her wall, the sticky tape still on it, and she’s throwing it at Juno to make her stop, but it falls short between their beds, falls down down down to land on their microwave.

“It’s my daughter,” she says out loud, looking away immediately and reading Act Four again, trying to get her breath under control.

She can hear Juno’s shifting in her bed, and brings the book closer to her eyes, trying to shut out everything that’s happening in the room.

This wasn’t what she wanted.

This wasn’t what she wanted.

She can feel the excess amount of moisture in her eyes start to well up and she sniffs them back.

 _Don’t lose it_ , she thinks, as she hears Juno slowly climb down her bed and walk over to the microwave. _Don’t lose it._

 

_“It’s okay,” she whispered, holding her close, shushing softly as Quinn only sobbed harder. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.”_

 

Juno’s picking up the photograph and Quinn’s re-read Cordelia’s monologue without understanding a single word.

She can hear her heartbeat thumping harder and harder in her ears. And she’s ready for the freak-out, and ready for the accusations, and the dirty looks, and the judgement.

“Wizard,” Juno murmurs.

Quinn looks down.

Their eyes meet, and it’s like a large hand has just clashed the white and black queen together on a messy muddled chessboard.

 

~#~#~

 

His name is Dylan. His adopted mother is Vanessa.

 

~#~#~

 

They don’t talk much about it after that, they’re strangely quiet about it, and things seem to go back to normal. Fortunately it’s right when exams roll around, and if they’re not out studying in libraries, they’re passed out back home, overwhelmed with books and putting the phone off the hook.

One afternoon they’re having lunch. Well, Juno’s having cold cereal without milk, and Quinn’s reading as always. Juno munches on her corn pops for a moment’s worth of silence before swallowing. “So question,” she says casually.

Quinn looks up.

“Are we, like, friends now? Or are we doing one of those ‘I know an epic secret about you but I’m gonna pretend like I don’t so we can continue living as strangers’ kind of...people?”

Quinn arches an eyebrow. That was completely unexpected. She glances back down at her textbook and tries to remember what she’d just read. “I...I don’t know, can we not talk about this?”

“Oh,” Juno says, turning her head back to her bowl, shaking her head as if shaking a loose thought away. “Just wondering. I haven’t done my research but statistically-”

“Whatever.” Quinn flips a page in her textbook and tucks her bangs aside once more, trying desperately to re-read and comprehend the first sentence.

 

~#~#~

 

Whether they’re friends or not, it manages to break down this mysterious fourth wall they’d built around each other, and suddenly they’re having breakfast together, just chatting about nothing. Or they’ll be out on campus, and have a break, and text to see if the other has it too. And they’ll meet up for lunch, or work side by side. Juno would ramble, Quinn would deal.

Odd, Quinn thinks to herself demurely one time, that she’s always surrounded by loud mouthed brunettes.

Juno always has these tic tacs on her. Orange. She’s got a never ending supply of them, maybe going through two or three a week, and biting down on them with this grin on her face. And Quinn wonders where she stashes them in their room, but can’t quite muster out the courage to ask. But really she doesn’t care.

One day she picks up a parcel for Juno, from the same sketchy delivery boy she thinks Juno must’ve met. It’s a large cardboard box just light as air, and when she shakes it she hears the familiar rattle. She checks the return address.

_P. Bleeker_

She squints at the address. Vermont. Who on earth goes to Vermont?

When Juno gets back, it’s already on her bed, and she’s running towards it with familiar excitement. “Sick!” she lunges onto her bed and, after smiling and running her hand over the return address, opens the box with her bare hands, revealing six stacks of sixteen packs of orange tic tacs. She smiles and rotates the box so Quinn can see.

“That should last you until Friday,” Quinn observes dryly.

Juno smirks and closes the box. “Aren’t we optimistic.”

Quinn tries for a smile. Points at the box with her pen. “Who’s P. Bleeker?”

Juno smiles at the address and rubs her stomach. “My babydaddy. He’s in Vermont.”

“Yes, I saw.”

“Where’s yours?”

Quinn flips the page of her textbook and looks away. She clears her throat. “He’s still in Lima.”

“Still talk to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.” She flips another page.

Juno’s gotten better at picking up these signs. She shrugs to herself, maybe, and takes a pack of tic tacs out of the box, opening the plastic and stuffing three packs in her bag.

“I’ve moved on,” Quinn says without lifting her head. “I’ve moved on and I don’t need to go back there again.”

“Got it, bro,” Juno says with a smile, placing the box under her bed.

 

~#~#~

 

Later on, maybe sometime in October, but she can’t be too sure, she gathers enough courage to finish the letter.

 

 

 

Beth is doing great, and got through the flu like the trooper she is. She misses you so much, and loves the new recordings you sent, she sleeps with them sometimes. I think she misses your voice. Last weekend, Rachel came down from New York with DVDs of Spring Awakening. We watched them and you should’ve seen Beth dancing her butt off to it. Rachel’s gotten so much better ever since she’s moved to the Big Apple, Quinn, you’d be so proud of her.

Beth and I have booked the Christmas break for you, so we’re really excited to see you! Don’t you worry too much about bringing presents, we understand that you’re a struggling university student now. Mostly I think Beth just wants to see you and I think it’ll be great for you two to spend more time together.

Best of luck with school, and you know my number if you need anything at all.

Shelby

P.S. Rachel will also be coming home around Christmas, but she’ll be spending New Year with her fathers. I hope this doesn’t change your plans in any way. Please come home, the holidays are a time for family.

 

 

 

She closes the letter slowly and puts it back into the envelope.

It doesn’t change her travel plans.

Of course it doesn’t change her plans.

Because for God’s sake, they’re not _fifteen_ years old.

 

 

anymore.

 

~#~#~

 

As it turns out, it’s not only the tic tacs. Juno eats these cheese puffs. They look disgusting. But she’s miraculously got a never-ending supply of them, along with these fake cheese crackers that taste nothing like cheese. And these small clementines, she just gobbles them down so quickly Quinn starts worrying about overdosing on vitamin C. In fact she says it to her once, too.

“Do you have to eat so many?” she asks with a tinge of annoyance in her voice when Juno brings out another Clementine from her sling bag.

Juno ignores the question and waves it at her casually. “You know if you wanted one, you could just ask. I’m...I share my food, it’s not like your cooties’ll turn me blonde or something.”

Quinn forces a laugh. “Clever. No, I’m just concerned about my roommate overdosing on vitamin C.” She turns back to her book. “What an explanation that’ll need.” She acts out a scene with an imaginary detective: “Well to be honest officer; it was nice to have something in her mouth so she’d stop babbling for five seconds.”

Juno stretches out on her bed and reaches over to her duffel bag to retrieve something inside with a grimace. “Well you could always plead the fifth and ask him, ‘Orange you glad I didn’t actually kill her, though?’” It’s ~~probably~~ the exhaustion settling in and Quinn chuckles a genuine chuckle, something Juno notices immediately, if only for the lack of hearing Quinn’s laughter at all. She points a hesitant finger at the blonde. “Did you just laugh?”

Quinn’s frowning immediately. “No.”

“You totally just laughed, man.”

“No I didn’t.”

“It’s okay, it’s a nice one.”

Quinn hesitates, only to shake her head one more last time. “Shut up.”

 

~#~#~

 

They go grocery shopping one afternoon, for some much needed supplies, and awkwardly walk in together, standing side by side and grabbing random things. Juno hulks a cart around, and Quinn vouches for a small basket. They walk in casual silence, Quinn not really minding it, Juno clicking her tongue every now and then. She spots some cashews on the left and grabs at it to break the silence, turning to Quinn; “So are you allergic to anything?”

“Just your sense of humour.”

“Oh, that’s a good one.”

“You walked into it.”

“I’m going to walk over to the meat section.”

Quinn shakes her head disapprovingly. “Meat is expensive.”

Juno shrugs. “What can I say; I’m predominantly carnivorous in my natural habitat. Catch you later alligator.”

Quinn waves shyly to her as Juno leans down on her cart and wheels herself over to the frozen meat section. She heads over to the breakfast aisle, looking for some more cereal, when she spots a familiar head.

Maybe not a head, but a familiar hair colour.

All the way at the other end of the aisle; a young brunette, looking carefully at the boxes.

And suddenly Quinn’s feeling the air just rush out of her head, and cool, crisp gust of hesitation. And she arches her head over to see her.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be.

 

_“Keep it close,” she said, as she brought the gold chain around Quinn’s head and dropped the locket down to rest against the valley of her breasts. A kiss. “Keep me close.”_

 

The brunette’s placing the box of apple crisps cereal back on the shelf and walking out of the aisle.

And maybe Quinn was holding something, maybe it was leaning on her, but she’s running after the brunette in a second, and she hears something clatter behind her.

But it doesn’t matter, because she’s all the way on one end of the aisle, and the brunette’s so far, and turning the corner and walking left.

And Quinn can’t yell, she can’t scream, all she can do is follow.

Desperately.

 

_“Keep me close,” she placed her fingers on the locket and pressed against it, letting Quinn feel the cool metal against her skin. “Keep me close I’ll always be with you.”_

 

She rounds the corner and the woman’s gone.

Possibly in another aisle?

She walks over to Aisle 7; no. Aisle 8; no. Aisle 9; no.

Maybe she went the other way.

Quinn spins back around quickly, passing aisle 9, then 8, then 7, then 6 again, to 5, and 4.

No, it was definitely a left.

She spins back around and rushes past 4, then, 5, then, 6, then, 7, then wham.

She smacks into a familiar brunette with a cheeky smile.

“Yes we could run. Or we could realize that most inanimate items in supermarkets aren’t usually at flight risk.”

Quinn’s pushing Juno aside before she realizes she’s doing it, running to aisle 8, then 9, then 10.

Still nothing. Maybe she wasn’t here.

She pauses, feeling her mind just flipping pages of selective memories back.

No she was here.

She was there, just there, in the aisle.

She was there, she saw her, she was sure of it.

“Quinn?”

“Good _Lord._ ”

Juno’s stepping all over her personal space, her hand on her shoulders, concerned eyes searching for hers. “You okay, man?”

Quinn breathes surprisingly steadily for how she’s certain how flushed and antsy she must look. “I’m fine.”

Juno takes a moment to look her up and down, from shaking fingers to knobbly knees and panting, she arches a bit of her eyebrow. “Okay,” she says slowly, “It’s cool that you think you’re fine. But I gotta tell you, you’re about one wheeze away from going all ‘Where’s my baby have you seen my baby’ on me, and it’s not a good look.”

Quinn laughs. And maybe she wants to. Or maybe it’s something to do at a time like this. But she laughs, and it really does make something – she doesn’t know what – go away. Something off her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Juno smiles a cocky one, taking Quinn’s basket out of her hand. “Stop apologizing, you’re always making me feel bad for noticing there’s something up.”

Quinn successfully ignores that jab for the rest of the day. She never sees the brunette again, ~~not that she’s looking for her~~. Not even when they make these shopping trips a weekly activity with each of them promising to cook two to three times a week for the other.

“Maybe this is what rooming with people is about,” Juno says when they’re having spaghetti after a long Friday.

“What’s that?” Quinn asks, slurping some pasta and splashing some tomato sauce on her cheek.

Juno laughs and wipes it with a napkin they stole from the cafeteria. “Free food. Free company.”

“Um excuse me, you paid for this tomato sauce.”

“Well I meant the cooking.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll make a great housewife someday, Quinn.”

Juno squeals when Quinn flicks her meatball at her, all over her blue t-shirt with the orange dinosaur. “Dude,” she says, getting up immediately, though with a smile, “Not cool.”

“Oh relax,” Quinn rolls her eyes, “It comes off if we soak it in soap-water and vinegar for fifteen minutes.”

Juno smiles again. “You’ll make a great housewife someday, Quinn.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

She does bring them presents. Of course she brings them presents. A raincoat for Shelby, and an authentic Paddington Bear for Beth. It isn’t much, but it’s something that was relatively last minute and within her price range. She stuffs them into her luggage, trying not to let Smith (that’s what she’s named the bear, if you  _must_ know) get squished under anything too heavy. Juno offers to go to the airport with her.

“No,” she replies curtly, zipping up the final bag.

Juno stuffs her hands into her pockets. “Just asking, bro.”

Quinn pauses at her zipper, if only for a moment, then looks back up at her. “We’re friends.”

Juno’s eyes perk up.

Quinn rolls her own. “I guess. I think we must be.”

“Well probably,” Juno says, taking her hands out of her pockets to wave them around, the way she always does, “I mean ever since we figured out we’ve both coincidentally been blown up like water-”

“Yes. Well. That, too.”

“Sorry.”

Quinn sighs and fixes her hair, then, cautiously like approaching a wild animal, she extends her right hand to Juno.

They shake awkwardly slowly before Juno lets go. She runs her hand through her short bangs very slowly. “I feel like a five-cent whore.”

Quinn grimaces to that as she lugs her baggage out the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later blondie.”

\--

The flight is just as horrible as she remembers airplane trips to be.

And it’s a headache of a flight, nine straight hours from Boston straight to Portland. Why Shelby decided to move to Portland she’d never understood, but secretly liked that it was so far away. So distant from everything on the East, so much further off, and hidden away. Like Quinn had this family really  _back home,_ and not just..in Lima. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in quite a while. Not that they hadn’t tried to contact her. She’d appreciated their paying for her education, though that came as no surprise, seeing as they were always, as they always do, trying to buy her love. It seemed as though everyone was always trying to buy Quinn’s affections. Though she’s certain Shelby’s paying for her roundtrip flight was more than what her parents do.

She’s prepping for takeoff and secretly hoping no one will sit beside her. And so of course, the last person to board is a little old lady who hesitantly shakes herself down beside Quinn. Quinn smiles at her, genuinely trying to be friendly.

“Hello there my dear,” the woman smiles, “Would you like to have the aisle seat instead? I’m afraid I just fall asleep during these long flights.”

“Oh,” Quinn observes, “No, thank you, I’m planning on sleeping through this, too.”

The woman smiles at that and settles herself in more comfortably. By the middle of the first in-flight movie, the woman’s opened up the in flight catalogue and flipped to Arts & Entertainment, where – of  _course –_  a raving review of  _Spring Awakening_ is taking up the left column. Quinn tries not to see – tries so hard  _not to see –_ but the names Rachel Berry and Jesse St James pop out in obnoxious multicoloured font.

_Love on and off stage?_

_Rumours flying amuck that ‘Awakening’ stars St James and Berry might be greeting spring time together. Sources say they’ve been seen cuddling off stage and holding hands together in_

Quinn puts on her headphones to watch the movie. She seems to be making it a habit to stop reading things mid-sentence.

\--

Shelby picks her up from the airport, with a big smile and hug and even an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

“How was the flight?” she asks, taking Quinn’s carry-on from her as they head for luggage check.

“Where’s Rachel?”

Shelby nearly trips up but catches herself. Because  _really,_ Quinn was never big on small talk. “At home watching Beth.”

When they finally get through it all and get into the van, Quinn’s moved onto other topics. Beth’s first word (Bumpy) and the wonderful way she’s running around now that she’s learnt how to. Stories of her first friends from the kids across the street. Playdates and first dates and bad first impressions. It’s all so very domestic and Quinn’s forgotten how easy life can sometimes be, until they pull into the driveway, and suddenly it’s all feeling so real. Rachel’s inside. And so is Beth.

Shelby takes her things up with her, telling her to wash up for dinner.

\--

Awkward.                                                                                                                                                             

and lovely.

All at once.

They shake hands. Why the hell do they shake hands? It’s so old, and formal, and forced.

_She remembers the first time she’d even seen Rachel Berry involuntarily reach for her in her sleep._

That same beautiful smile, so unforced. Flashed twice during supper, a third time between bites of dessert.

_“What are you smiling at?” she’d asked her once._

_“I love you,” she’d replied._

Long hair, longer than she’d remembered. Curly at the tips.

_Splayed across her naked chest in the early morning._

Dinner is quiet

And lovely.

All at once.

\--

Shelby choreographs it perfectly as she always does to leave upstairs with Beth and leave them alone in the basement, an invitation for one of them to sleep in the bedroom upstairs, and one on the couch here. They stand, awkwardly, in a dimly lit room with rusted furniture and soft creaking above their hands, staring at their hands.

“You look-”

“Don’t, Rachel.”

The hurt is plain to see on her face. “Well that was out of line. I just wanted to say you look well rested, Quinn.”

She stops herself from rolling eyes. “So,” she says, avoiding the brunette’s gaze. She looks about the room. “Who’s sleeping where?”

“I suppose I could take the couch and you the bedroom.”

She feels a flash of guilt, and hates that she feels it at all. “I don’t care, Rachel. You should take the bedroom, it’s upstairs.” She pauses and looks outside. “I wake up earlier than you do,” she says quieter.

_“Good morning, lovely,” she’d said to her their first morning together, a soft kiss to her forehead, and fingers tracing across her stomach._

“I’m aware of that, Quinn,” Rachel replies, “But the bedroom is also closer to Beth’s, and I believe it probably better for you to be closer in proximity.”

Quinn grits her teeth. This girl never made anything easy and clearly hadn’t grown out of that annoying habit. “The bedroom is closer to the washroom and you need it more than I do.”

_“You’re so cold,” Quinn mumbled grumpily when she got back into bed at four in the morning. She moved her calves away from frozen toes that met hers. “You’re warm, though,” she said in that deep, low voice, still raspy from the morning air._

“Honestly, Quinn,” Rachel snaps her back into the present, “I’m aware that the bedroom is the better choice of the two, clearly, since it’s an actual architecturally chosen suitable housing space and this is just simply the living room, but I really do think you’re just going to have to suck it up and take it, Quinn. Otherwise we’ll both stay here in the living room, and,” she pauses, and stumbles for words, “Well I don’t know. But we’ll sleep here in this one space with a strange physical distance like a pair of stereotypical gay roommates.”

“I’m  _not gay,_ ” Quinn says too quickly, folding her arms together. This isn’t what she came home for.

Rachel purses her lips together. She looks away, almost hurt, reliving all those long nights, all those stolen kisses in hallways, every moment of connection they shared. She regroups herself, as she always does. “I understand that you identify as sexually fluid, Quinn.”

“I’m  _not gay._ ”

Rachel shakes her head again. “I understand that you are just simply strangely attracted to me, Quinn.” She looks at her, straight through her, as she always does. “However, this is not about the palpable sexual tension between us, this is about our sleeping arrangements.”

Quinn chooses to ignore her first remark, though it flusters something inside her stomach that she ignores in vain. She shakes her head and motions to the couch. “I’ll take the couch,” she says quietly, just focusing on its dark brown tint. She bunches her fingers together and scrapes at her fingernails, biting her lower lip, trying so hard to keep her focus on anything but the girl standing in front of her.

A tsk. “You’re acting extremely immature, Quinn.”

“How so?”

Rachel shifts in place. “You’re acting as though _I_  broke  _your_ heart.”

Quinn blinks tears away. Honestly, this really wasn’t what she came home for. She doesn’t need this. She can’t do this. Not now. Not when things are supposed to be picking back up, she can’t fall back into the past. She does her best to smirk it away. “Always the drama queen, Rachel.”

“I have been nothing but patient with you, Q.”

The nickname smarts like nothing else.

“When you-” Rachel pauses and glances upstairs. She lowers her voice to a fierce whisper. “When told me you couldn’t see me anymore, it ripped me in half but I learned to accept that you needed space. I have given you space, _I went to New York.”_

“You went to New York for yourself, you were always going to.”

“Is that what this is about, Q?” Rachel asks, her eyes now glowing. She takes an angry step forward closer to Quinn. “Are you angry with me that I left? Do you feel as though I leftyou?”

Quinn grumbles the pain away, and lets the frustration fly out. She points to the magazine she’d placed on the coffee table, that Godforsaken magazine with its  _headlines_ and  _stories. “_ Maybe it  _feels_ like you’ve got this great new life in New York that I’m not a part of! I’m studying International Relations in  _Boston,_ and you’re living a grand life in the Big Apple with Jesse St James, you’re doing just fine on your own. So don’t you dare tell me-”

“Is that what you think?” The voice is low. So low, low, low, with that familiar tinge of hurt she hadn’t heard Rachel let slip in for so long. “That I simply just couldn’t wait to shed my old life?”

Quinn looks away. “Don’t lie to me.” She knows she isn’t.

“Maybe I was ready to let Lima go, maybe I’ve always been meant for something greater, but what makes you think we aren’t the same, either?”

Quinn bites her lip. She doesn’t need to hear this. Any of this.

 “I wasn’t ready to let you go.”

“Well, just because you’re not ready doesn’t mean it isn’t time.” She turns her head back to face Rachel. She’d made that decision, too. It damn near ripped her in half, telling her she needed space.  _Space._ Space not for her. But space for Rachel.  “I’m not going to be the one to hold you down, Rachel Berry.”

Rachel’s tears match her own, slowly, freely falling. She shakes her head incredulously. “I’m in love with you, Q.”

And it shatters the rest of her heart.

“And you’re in love with me.”

Quinn turns away. Because if you don’t see it, if you don’t hear it, it can’t exist. This can’t exist.

Rachel sighs softly at her. She wipes her eyes fervently, willing and succeeding as always to stop the tears in their tracks. She wants to repeat it, because they both know it’s true, but as she’s learnt; telling Quinn Fabray how she feels doesn’t really do much. Instead she folds her arms together and stands strong. “I’m going to take the couch, because you’re staying longer than I am. Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn doesn’t respond to this, only turns on her feet and marches upstairs.

She’ll deal with it tomorrow.

\--

She does honestly try to get to bed, but it resonates in her mind, Rachel’s voice, the ferocity, the frustration, and everything they’ve said, and not said. The tears she’s kept inside. The loneliness.

_“Quinn,” she gasps helplessly, and the blonde smiles against her wet, wet core, speeding her tongue laps, stopping grins when she feels Rachel’s shaking fingers grip loosely yet desperately at her shoulders. Rachel comes with a broken A and G sharp._

Quinn tosses slightly on the bed for a bit, rearranging the pillow this way and that, relishing in the cold spike of the other side of the pillow, only to hate it a moment later. It builds inside of her, and she only feels the room grow brighter, and before she can admit it, she’s fully awake, and sleep the last thing on her mind. She clamps her legs together and rolls onto her stomach.  _You’re being ridiculous,_ she tells herself.

_You need some water,_ the other voice says.

Yes. Water.

She lets herself believe that’s why she’s getting out of bed. She lets herself believe it’s why she’s licking her lips. That the shivers are the cold morning. She glances over at her clock: 3:24AM.  _Go back to bed,_ she tells herself.

_You need some water,_ the other voice repeats.

Yes. Water.

She trudges downstairs and moves her hands, slowly, feeling the walls and caressing the light switches. She hobbles into the kitchen and grabs herself a cold glass of water, filling it at the tap and wiping her eyes of daze and dizzy sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

The glass topples out of her grip and slams into the sink, luckily not breaking, but certainly a more dramatic reaction than she would’ve liked. She thumps the tap down and turns around to face a very equally tired Rachel in a t-shirt and boyshorts. And in a fast, fluid yet soft movement, she’s crossing the kitchen to her, muttering “No” over and over before pushing her lips onto hers, grabbing her body and squeezing it between hers and the wall behind her. Quinn’s fingers fumble about behind Rachel’s back, finding the light switch and shutting it off, she hears Rachel’s moan and then feels it on her lips, her tongue, right at the back of her throat. She takes Rachel’s t-shirt and pushes it up, letting her fingers and hand travel up and around and everywhere she can find skin. Skin skin warm skin and more hot familiar skin.

“Quinn,” Rachel mumbles breathlessly, barely-open eyes and breathy gusts of air, she struggles to keep her balance as Quinn continues to pin her up against the wall. She needs their pyjama pants down, or at least pushed down. She locks her lips onto Quinn, relishing in the taste, the familiar warmth of her mouth, her tongue, the way they fit absolutely everywhere and so so perfectly. Her hair, her beautiful long blonde hair, and her smell that just lives inside her, Rachel’s always wanted to wrap herself up in a big pile of  _Quinn._

Quinn’s hands move underneath her t-shirt, fumbling and grabbing hard at her breasts, teasing and rolling her nipples in her fingers, grinning at Rachel’s groans to that. She’d always liked it counter clockwise, and  _God,_ she hadn’t changed. Nothing had changed, none of it had changed. “Rachel,” she murmurs, sliding her leg between Rachel’s and feeling her grinding down, nervously and excitedly moving their cores close to each other. Rachel’s hand slides down into her pyjama pants and she feels two familiar fingers inside her. She groans in response, gliding and pushing her own fingers into Rachel and their foreheads push together, they exhale as one, groaning and moaning softly in the dark kitchen.

“I love you,” Rachel breathes in a broken whisper, gasping and panting with closed eyes, her fingers working perfectly inside her, a thumb caressing and rubbing furiously at her clit.

“Oh  _Rachel,”_ Quinn groans, closing her eyes altogether and burying her lips onto the girl’s neck, right where her head meets her throat, she attacks the soft, warm skin, feeling the every hesitant inhale. They move together so quickly, so hurriedly and frenzied, when they lick their lips sometimes they’re still kissing, and ‘love’s and ‘yes’s and ‘don’t stop’s fall one over the other until finally Quinn combusts around her with a soft and shaky “Oh  _goodness,”_ Rachel comes almost with her, grabbing Quinn’s hand inside her and using it as a balance as she grinds against her just  _there_ there  _there_. When she comes she kisses Quinn hard enough to make her look at her, right in the eyes, and Quinn sees the explosion in her irises, feels the warmth and desperate clenching, before shutting her own eyes as Rachel pulls her into another kiss with a frantic, “ _Quinn.”_

\--

She wakes up slowly and for a moment she’s so sure it was a dream, until she opens the other eye and watches the living room ceiling for a moment. Then turns on her side to find Rachel still sleeping beside her, her clothes back on, the covers barely around her waist, and a light pink and red patch on her neck. The sun enters from the window beside them and hits the top of her head just right. She moves a bit of Rachel’s hair out of her face and she stirs.

“Q?” she murmurs, her hand twitching but she isn’t quite awake enough to reach for her.

“Yeah,” she responds quietly. She plants a slow, soft kiss on her forehead. “Yeah.”

\--

She gets back to her dorm maybe at midnight on January 2nd. Juno’s there as always on her top bunk reading an issue of  _The Hulk._ She glances down at Quinn’s entrance and hops down with a smile. “Need some help?” she offers with Quinn’s baggages.

“Thanks.”

“How was the visit?”

“It was fine.”

“Did you see your baby daddy?”

“No,” Quinn replies. She traces her fingers across a new locket around her neck. “Someone else, more important.”

Juno nods her head and glances at it. “Cool,” she replies.

\--

Long distance is daunting, but it feels right, and it feels okay.

Because you can’t ignore what’s there, everyday.

\--

They watch a movie later that week, and even Juno’s gotten bored of making snarky remarks. Quinn leans her head across the couch instead and observes Juno’s specific cracking of knuckles. “Juno?”

“Yes?”

She licks her lips and slides closer to the girl. “Thank you for being here. You have no idea how much I ... how much I like you.”

Juno’s cracking slows to an awkward tightening. She turns to Quinn slowly with a friendly smile. “Thanks. But...you know I’m not like...into girls, right?”

And Quinn feels something flush against her cheeks, that familiar horrible blushing warmth of complete embarrassment. She stutters weakly, hating how it sounds.

“I mean that’s cool,” Juno stutters, trying for a smile, “You know, if you fly that bus, that’s cool, I don’t care. I mean, knowing me, I’ll play tennis sometime later in life but like-”

“I was just going for a hug.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well c’mere.” Juno extends her arms and wraps them tightly around Quinn, who buries her nose in the shorter girl’s shoulder, just for a moment, willing to erase the last fifteen seconds. Juno nods to herself and holds Quinn closer. “Good hug,” she states.

They smile, not caring if the other one is or not, knowing they are.

\--

“So wait, just so we’re clear, you’re like, not hot for me, right?”

“Right.”

“Cos you’ve got some lovebird who gives you sweet lockets and shit, right?”

“Yes, in New York.”

“And that’s a girl, right?”

“Yes.”

“But not me.”

“Not you.”

“Kay. Cool.”

   
 

_end._


End file.
